


Mistakes Were Made

by CaramelMachete



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Human Trafficking, Human Trafficking (mentioned only), Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason is a potty mouth, Major Character Injury, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, No Slash, Not Beta Read, Pre-New 52, Swearing, a bit of angst, graphic depiction of wounds, he says the f-word and other stuff a few times, robin!jason, violence (not too graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaramelMachete/pseuds/CaramelMachete
Summary: Nightwing joins Jason as Robin and Batman for a stake-out. When Batman gets called away, Nightwing and Robin are unable to follow Batman's orders. They bite off a little more than they can chew. So, how much first aid training does Robin remember anyway? Jason worries that if he can't handle this, maybe he's not fit to be Robin after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I cherry-picked my favorite bits from various pre-New 52 continuity so this is AU, and I made Dick and Jason closer in age than they are in canon.

Jason bounced down the stairs to the Batcave, crunching an apple he had swiped from Alfred. The apple competed with the buzz of excitement in his belly - it was the Friday before Presidents' Day - three nights of patrol without worrying about school the next day. Jason resolutely ignored the thought that maybe the buzzing was also nerves. Batman had invited Nightwing to patrol with them tonight, and it was only the third time Jason had met his famous predecessor. Rumors on the street suggested a big drug shipment arriving from the Yakuza one night this weekend, and Batman had called in his former partner for backup.

 

Jason heard the growl of a bike signalling Nightwing’s arrival. Damn, he’d hoped to be suited up before Nightwing arrived. Bruce was already in the bat suit but with the cowl off, sitting in front of the computer. Bruce greeted Jason with a nod before standing up and moving to the rail to watch Dick arrive. Jason followed, and couldn’t help but puff up his chest a little as he felt the solid weight of Bruce’s hand on his shoulder. Jason reminded himself that he didn’t have anything to prove - he was Robin now. And anyway, Nightwing was tiny. At least he looked so small standing next to Batman.

 

Tiny or not, he was still taller than Jason. But, Jason reminded himself, he was still growing. Nightwing was nineteen - probably not going to get any taller. Dick had been Nightwing for almost three years now. Jason didn’t know the exact details of the firing, but he had pieced together that a mission with the Joker failed after the Joker shot Dick, and Batman kicked Dick out of the cave. For his first year in the manor, Jason had been convinced that any day might be his last day. He was finally starting to believe that his position was secure.  

 

Whatever mixed feelings Dick might have about being back in the cave, he greeted Jason with a 1,000 kilowatt grin. “Hey there, little wing.” The smile and endearment made Jason feel warm and glowy all over, but also kind of made him want to punch the mouth that seemed to smile so easily.  

 

“Bruce,” Dick said to his former mentor, nodding slightly, mouth now flat and serious. Jason knew the two were on speaking terms - this week at least - but relations were still strained. This weekend would be a test run to see how well they could work together.

 

Bruce answered Dick’s greeting with a nod of his own. “Suit up, Jason. The informant said that they might be moving the cargo tonight, and we need to be in place before then.”

 

Jason threw his apple core in the trash as he moved to the locker area, pushing down his disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to hear whatever discussion Batman felt like having with his former partner. He changed as quickly as possible, but the pair was silent when he returned. In fact, Jason wasn’t sure they had spoken at all.

 

Bruce pulled the cowl up and settled firmly into Batman, his voice dropping even lower and finding that inimitable gravelly tone. “Robin, Nightwing. Get in the car. We’ll talk strategy on the drive.”

 

The strategy was fairly straight-forward. The three would take different positions on the roof of the warehouse. Batman stationed himself right above the main door, and ordered Nightwing to the side nearest the water, ready for the boat’s arrival. He pointed Robin towards the large skylights in the middle, and Jason glumly stared down at the sight of a dark and seemingly empty warehous. He had the most boring view, he was sure of it. 

 

Batman officially discouraged meaningless chatter on the comms, but Jason knew Dick well enough that he fully expected the ex-Robin to break radio silence sooner rather than later. Less than a hour into the stakeout, he was not disappointed.

 

“Anyone bring any Twizzlers?” Nightwing joked quietly over a secure channel on their commlink. 

 

“Twizzlers? You like red licorice?” Jason scoffed.

 

“Twizzlers are perfect stake out food. Or road trip food. Tasty, sweet, not too loud. And you can put one in your mouth and eat it like a long piece of spaghetti.”

 

Jason was positive he did not just hear a small snort of amusement from Batman.

 

“So you don’t have to keep reaching into the bag. Less disruption. See, perfect stake out food,” Nightwing warmed to his subject. “Individually wrapped candy is a bad call. And I don’t care what Agent A says, carrot sticks are not a ‘perfectly good substitute’ to Twizzlers. Not to mention way too crunchy.” Nightwing managed a near-perfect imitation of Alfred’s British accent.

 

Okay, that was definitely a snort over the comms from Batman.

 

“Tell me Agent A did not pack carrot sticks for a stake out,” Jason inquired, not sure if Dick was teasing or not. 

 

“He totally did. And raisins.”

 

“Raisins? Like in that little box?” 

 

“Yes! You cannot get gloved fingers in those little boxes, let me tell you. And the raisins are sticky!”

 

Now Jason was convinced that Nightwing was lying, but he couldn’t help grinning at the mental image. 

 

“You should have seen B trying to wipe his hands off on the cape.”

 

Batman grumbled, “Quiet, Nightwing” but to Jason’s ears he did not sound entirely displeased. Jason ignored the small stab of jealousy. Batman had fired the first Robin after a confrontation with the Joker went spectacularly wrong, and they hadn’t talked in a year. This recent truce was new and untried. And yet, Jason couldn’t help but hear certain fondness in the way Batman had spoken to Nightwing. Jason imagined dozens of stakeouts the two of them must have passed together. How many times had Batman had to quiet the younger vigilante, half amused and half annoyed by his ridiculous banter?

Another couple of hours passed. Jason shifted slightly, running through isometric movements to keep his body loose and limber. He knew the other two were doing the same. He peered around the interior of the warehouse, then moved his sight to scan the neighboring buildings and then what little of the horizon he could see. He flicked the lenses in his mask between night vision, heat vision and normal. He consciously stilled his breathing, trying to pick up any noise in the still night air. He amused himself for a few seconds by puffing out big white gasps of air into the February cold, and then started his routine over again. 

Just when Jason had finished curling and uncurling his toes, he heard a double click and then faint interference on this comm. That sound meant that Batman had taken a private call on a different line and dropped out of their group channel. Immediately Jason tensed. Typically only the Justice League called Batman without including Robin on the initial contact, and only in dire situations.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nightwing shift restlessly and guessed that he was thinking along the same lines. After a few minutes of silence, Batman clicked back on. “That was Superman. The Green Lantern Corps just alerted the Watchtower - alien aircraft have been sighted 120 million miles out from Pluto, but headed this way. I need to head to the Watchtower now. You two, stay here. Continue the stake out, but do not intervene. Watch and observe only.”

“What if the shipment arrives?” Robin interjected.

“We don’t know that it’s arriving today. Informant just said any day this weekend. If it does arrive, they won’t start distributing tonight. Get numbers and troop sizes, and we will meet up tomorrow.”

“But. . .” Robin couldn’t get any further objections out before Batman interrupted. 

 

“Robin. Stakeout - watch only - or I will send you back to the cave.”

“Got it, B. We’ll just watch. No need to send anyone back,” Nightwing reassured Batman, sounding like a high school student joking with his favorite teacher. 

“I’ll contact you once I know more from the Watchtower. Batman out.” Jason heard the familiar pop, hiss, crunch of a grapnel being launched, and barely made out the cloaked form of the dark knight rising up and away.

 

“Great.” Jason scuffed at the roof with the toe of his boot. “Now what?”

“Now we wait, just like the boss-man said,” Nightwing replied. “Twizzler?”

Alfred called a few minutes later to tell them that Batman would send the Batmobile back to the warehouse on autopilot. They should continue the stakeout until an hour before sunrise, and then return to the cave. Nightwing directed Robin to move to the front of the warehouse to take up surveillance of the main warehouse door. 

Hours passed in the increasing cold. Batman called to inform them that the aliens were willing to negotiate and he expected to be back before noon, but he would miss the rest of the stakeout. Nightwing occasionally made a small joke or observation, but for the most part the heroes concentrated on reconnaissance. Around 3:30 a.m., Jason saw a white van slow as it neared the warehouse. “Nightwing, we have company.”

The van parked in front of the large garage door of the warehouse. A few minutes later, a black sedan pulled up from the other direction. The man in the front passenger seat stepped out, scanned the environment - Jason froze as his gaze flicked over the roofline of the warehouse - then opened the door for the passengers. Jason clearly saw the outline of a gun under the bodyguard's jacket. A man and women, both in sharp black suits, emerged from the sedan and walked to the rear gate of the van. The bodyguard opened the back, and the suits cooly examined whatever was in the back. Frustratingly, the angle was wrong for Jason to see into the van. The suits conferred quietly, but Jason couldn’t quite make out the words even in the still night air. 

“Robin, report,” Nightwing ordered over the comm.

“Two drivers, one bodyguard, two suits. There might be more in the van but don’t have visual,” Robin responded in a low voice. “Another van coming.” He watched as the second van parked and men and women got out, moving like trained martial artists. They stood in a loose formation in front of the still closed warehouse door. The suits looked at the new arrivals, but didn’t move away from the open door of the first van. “Five more goons. I can see that they have guns and knives, still holstered.”

“Any movement?”

“They seem to be waiting for something.”

“Ok. Let’s see what happens.” Jason thrilled at the slight increase of tension and excitement he could barely discern in the other’s tone. Finally - they might see some action. Jason rose slowly up and down on his toes, loosened and tensed his shoulders, flexed his fingers. Batman told them not to intervene. Tell that to his rising adrenalin. 

“Boats coming from the south,” Nightwing whispered. Jason waited as he pictured the other vigilante pulling out his binoculars to examine the approaching vessels. “Two boats. Four goons in each. I can see some duffel bags from here. About five minutes out.”

“Copy,” Robin responded. The bodyguard raised one hand to his ear, talking on his own comm unit. Jason tried to read the man’s lips as he updated the two suits, but they aren’t speaking English and he can’t tell what they might be saying. Jason thought that Batman probably can lipread Japanese. While the person is gargling mouthwash. And yodeling.

Jason’s internal monologue snapped short as he saw movement by the first cargo van. Two of the goons wrestled something out. No, not something. Some one. “Shit. Nightwing, it’s a kid.”

“What?”

“In the first van. They have a girl.” Jason adjusted his position, angling slightly to the right to get a better view down below. “Two girls. Those fuckers. . .”

“Human trafficking? They must be planning to trade the kids for the drugs.” Nightwing’s voice was as grim as Jason’s. “Batman said not to interfere.”

“What the hell? We can’t let them get the girls on the boat. We have to do something.”

There was just the briefest pause before Jason heard Dick draw a deep breath. “Of course. We stop this tonight. Now.”

Jason sighed in relief when he realized that Dick was agreeing with him. They were going to do this. But how? Jason’s Bat-training flicked through possible scenarios, calculating odds, number of goons, they have guns, they might kill the hostages, and suddenly his thoughts spiralled out of control, the variables going tick tick tick through his brain and all ending with two dead girls, sprawled between white sacks of cocaine. No, Jason told himself. Stop. You are Robin. You are Robin now and you are with the original Robin and you two are going to do this. Three deep breaths and Jason felt himself settle. We got this, he thought. 

 

Jason heard the loud creaks and mechanical groans of the industrial-sized garage door open below him, and he risked a quick glance down again to see a goon holding a girl each, their wrists bound behind them. They couldn’t have been any older than twelve, and even in the dark he saw the tear tracks down their cheeks.  

Jason felt the presence of his predecessor next to him, a warm solid strength. Forget that he had dismissed Nightwing as tiny earlier, now the other teen seemed large and reassuring. “The boats will be docking soon, and then I assume they will start unloading. We’ve got to make sure the hostages stay safe. Ten people out front, including the drivers, not including the girls. Eight in the back with the boats. Anyone in the warehouse?”

“Negative.”

 

Nightwing nodded. “You take the people on the boats and I’ll untie the hostages and then engage the people by the vans. As soon as you can, join me in the front.”

“Roger.” 

Jason ran on silent feet back towards the waterfront, as he pulled his grapnel out of his utility belt. He saw the two speedboats slowing down and turned towards the warehouse. When they had scoped out the roof earlier, he had noticed a row of lights along the dock, most of the bulbs long burned out but there should be enough light to aim. He fired the gun and it wrapped satisfyingly around the nearest pole, and Jason allowed the sudden tug on his arms to boost his jump, and he swung. With a thrilling thump his feet collided firmly against the chest of the driver of the nearest boat. Jason registered the splash and shout as the man fell into the water, but he’s already moving, jackknifing his body so that the arc of his swing carries him around the far side of the light pole and back towards the shore line. The first boat crashed into the second boat. The occupants shouted in confusion and Jason kept moving, jumping onto the nearest boat, hitting one goon in the face with his right fist, left elbow into the gut of a second, hands on the back of a seat to kick out both legs, knocking a third back into the water. 

 

From the far side of the warehouse, Jason heard chaos and can smell the acrid scent of smoke bombs. He ducked under a blow, saw someone start to draw a gun, and Jason threw a batarang before the hand can reach the barrel, and he didn’t stop, letting his body flow in the familiar rhythm of fighting. Now three guys were in the water, and one was probably unconscious on the floor of the boat. Jason jumped across to the other boat to take out the remaining goons. He was fast and he hit hard and they barely saw him coming. Three more ended up in the water and Jason grabbed the last by his hair and slammed his face hard into the metal railing of the boat. 

 

The boat bumped up gently against the dock, and Jason pelted toward the warehouse. The large doors at the back were open now, and Jason looked straight through the empty warehouse to the front, where the giant garage door silhouetted the fight against the pale white light of the streetlights and the headlights of the cars.

Nightwing moved like air, like his body is made for violence the same way a dancer’s body is made for music, and there was a joy and a grace in it that gave Jason a thrill of pure appreciation. And just a bit of jealousy. Jason wasn’t at that level - not yet anyway. Why the hell did Batman ever stop working with him? He escrima sticks moved almost too fast for the eye to track. Nightwing sprang straight up into the air, flipped, reached his hands down to use the shoulders of the nearest goon as a springboard, and flicked both legs out in opposite directions to kick two other goons in the heads, doing the splits mid-air. Ouch, a guy’s legs should not be that flexible Jason thought, just as he reached the fight and tackled the nearest suit to the ground. He looked around - Nightwing would have freed the hostages first, and he saw them hiding under the cover of one of the vans, wrists unbound. Jason grabbed the arm of the man he just tackled, bent it behind the man’s back, twisted until the man shouts in pain and drops his gun. Jason snatched up the gun and delivered a heavy blow to the back of the man’s head, then threw the gun away. He looked up, thinking, who’s next? Most of the Yakuza soldiers were down, Nightwing was finishing off two nearest the second van, and Jason saw the boss lady rise shakily to her feet. She looked like she’s searching for her phone, and Jason knew he needed to move before she can make that call. 

 

Just before Jason reached her, he felt himself slammed from the side, and he hit the rough cement of the road, rolled, realized that the man on top of him was not wearing a suit. All of the goons out front and back had been in black suits. This guy was wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket. Shit, fuck, cocksuckers, Jason thought he must have missed some people actually inside the warehouse. How many? How could he have been so stupid?   

Suddenly Nightwing was there again, moving with that deadly grace, and Jason gasped in relief as the weight of the new enemy was thrown off. Nightwing hauled Jason back to his feet, and they moved to fight back to back. Though they had only patrolled together a couple of times, they were both trained by the same man, and they worked together as effortlessly as if they were working with Batman. In the blur of the constant motion, Jason was pretty sure he counted six more fighters, circling around the two vigilantes. Jason cursed himself again. It had been his job to watch the inside of the warehouse before Batman left. They must have been there the whole time. 

Jason sidestepped to the left but there’s a pothole, and he fell down hard with a grunt of pain and surprise. He pushed himself up onto his knees, just as one of the leather jackets raised his hand. The only warning Jason had was a flash of light glinting off a shiny tanto blade. He threw his arm up to block, angled so the thickest part of his gauntlet can take the blow, but there was no need. Nightwing cartwheeled right over Jason, kicked the man while upside down, and grunted a bit with the effort. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Nightwing grabbed the man’s leather jacket with one hand and delivered a nerve strike to his neck with the other. Once again, Nightwing helped Jason to his feet and they resumed their fighting stances. 

 

There were five Yakuza members left. One rushed towards Nightwing, who ducked then flowed into a judo throw, catapulting the thug into another one. Jason cracked his foot into a goon’s kneecap, threw an elbow into another’s nose, while Nightwing whirled with escrima sticks flashing. Soon everyone was down, and Nightwing knelt to tie the hands of the nearest goon. 

“Robin, check the hostages and I’ll call Agent A to contact Gordon,” he ordered, and maybe he sounded a bit out of breath. Jason grinned at that as he heads off in the opposite direction, back towards the van where he saw the girls hiding. Jason felt less ashamed of his own heavy breathing. He stopped to zip tie each criminal that he passed, then crouched down low by the van. 

“Hey there, it’s going to be alright, you’re gonna be safe now,” Jason said to them, putting on his best Robin grin but speaking in a low, soothing tone. They glanced at each other before slowly creeping out, shivering. Jason offered the nearest girl a hand, then reached for the second one, and helped them sit on the floor of the van. He took off his cape and tried to wrap around both of their shoulders. It slithered to the ground a couple of times before the child on the left had the presence of mind to grab it with one hand, pulling it to her shoulder, then reached the other end across the back of the other girl. They shuddered and shivered, leaning against each other, as Jason’s useless words continued to fall over them. “Nightwing is going to call the police. They will be here soon, ok, and they will find your parents.” He didn’t know what say, what could possibly help, but Robin stands for light against the darkness and he tried to 

Jason turned to watch Nightwing move through the downed bodies, checking that each one is restrained. Dick moved a bit stiffly, favoring his side slightly, but it didn’t slow him down and he double-checked all of the goons.

 

Nightwing tapped his comm to speak to the cave. “Agent A, it’s Nightwing. Tell Gordon we need a pickup at the docks. Drug delivery and potentially human trafficking. There are two underage hostages.” Dick turned back to face Jason and Jason saw that Dick was pressing one hand against his side and he was definitely wounded. 

 

“A, tell Gordon that we’ll probably be gone before they get here. We are heading back to the cave,” Jason interjected, barely hearing Alfred ask about the condition of the hostages. He jogged over to Nightwing, not fast enough, as the other hero slowly sunk to his knees.

 

“Well, fuck,” Jason muttered. 

Jason dropped to the ground in front of Nightwing. “Let me see. How bad is it?”

Dick looked up then, and even through the white out lenses Jason saw that his eyes were closed. “Lucky hit. Got right between two segments of the armor.” Nightwing moved his arm just enough that Jason saw how hard he was pressing his hand into his side, a couple of inches to the left of his belly button. In the glare of the vans’ headlights, he saw a large knife wound, probably deep. But that’s not what caused Jason to freeze in fear. There was blood on Nightwing’s lips, dribbling out a little more with each breath. He must have also taken a knife wound somewhere else, and he was bleeding internally.

“We need to get you back to the car. Where’s the second hit?”

Nightwing looked confused. “I think there’s just one?” 

“No, you must have another. Wipe your mouth.” He tried to haul the larger crimefighter to his feet, but Dick didn’t seem willing or able to cooperate. Dick slowly moved his free arm to his mouth and wiped his lips, staring dumbly at the glistening red stain on his glove. Jason watched the comprehension slowly dawn on his face as he worked out where the second wound is. 

He moved the arm covering the wound on his abdomen to reveal another hole in the Kevlar, right below his ribs. Jason stuffed a few pieces of gauze from his utility belt against the wounds, knowing that he needs to the get to the full first aid kit in the Batmobile soon. Nightwing wrapped both of his arms around his torso, and finally made an effort to stand as Jason yanked him upward by his armpits. He got the taller boy on his feet, but Nightwing swayed unsteadily. 

“Come on. Where is the car?”

“B said he’d return it right back where we left it,” Nightwing replied.

“Man, I cannot carry your heavy ass three blocks.”

 

“I can walk,” Dick maintained stoutly.

 

Jason snorted, but adjusted Nightwing’s arm across his back, trying to take as much weight as he can. “We should get out of here before Gordon and the GCPD arrive. They see you bleeding and they’ll freak.” They took a few stumbling steps towards the batmobile. Jason saw Dick’s jaw clench, and he doesn’t like the pale color of his skin, but they settled into a rhythm. For a few minutes, Jason thought that they’ll make it. But then Nightwing stumbled hard, and Jason struggled to keep both of them on their feet. He looked behind them to see an obvious blood trail leading back to the warehouse.

 

“You aren’t going to make it the rest of the way, and you’re leaving tracks. Do you still have remote access for the car?” 

“I don’t have a remote any more, or I would have used it already.” Dick thought for a minute, scowling. “Give me your tablet. I know B disabled most of my codes, but A said he left one emergency code. I never thought I’d actually use it. It will automatically set off my emergency beacon, alert Batman on the Watchtower and the cave.”

Jason fished out his tablet and handed it over to the other vigilante, even as he questioned, “Do you really think we need to do that?”

“I don’t want to admit to B that I’m hurt, but he cut off most of my access when he fired me as Robin. This is the only way to get the Batmobile here.”

After a few seconds of fumbling, Jason realized that he needed to hold the tablet for Dick while Dick typed one handed, still leaning against Jason. “Got it. The car will be here in a minute.” They heard sirens approach rapidly from behind them just as a Batmobile roared to them, headlights shining, black metal catching and reflecting back gleams of streetlights, accelerating fast and then braking hard. It stopped right in front of them and both doors automatically opened. Despite the situation, both young men take a second to grin at each other.

 

“Damn, I missed that,” Nightwing mumbled.

 

Jason half-shoved, half-dropped Nightwing into the passenger seat, which luckily was closer anyway, before he grabbed the first aid kit out of the trunk.

 

“Master Robin, Master Nightwing has used his priority alpha code to summon the Batmobile. Requesting status update.” Alfred sounded as calm and dry as ever, but Jason thought he’s talking a bit faster than normal.

 

“Wingster has two stab wounds to the abdomen, and I couldn’t carry him. He’s losing too much blood,” Jason replied, even as he’s removing his gauntlets and pulling on nitrile gloves. He is impressed with how competently he has been handling the situation. He felt kick ass. 

Dick slumped half against the car seat, half against the center console, and looked barely conscious. He still had his arm pressed against his side, applying pressure to both wounds. Jason gingerly shifted Dick’s hand out of the way, to see the wound by his ribs, and flinched at a large gush of bright red. Jason realized that his own hands were shaking, and the skin of NIghtwing’s torso is so white against the red blood and the black suit, and there was more blood on Nightwing’s face, down his chin. The kickass feeling was gone, blown away by the ragged sounds of Dick’s breath, and the sight of the blood. Everything Batman and Alfred drilled into Jason about field first aid - gone. Jason remembered sitting through the lessons, but he could not remember a single word any more than he could recite the names of the signers of the Magna Carta.

Afterwards, Jason isn’t sure how long he froze for, but he slowly realized that Alfred was talking to him urgently on the comm. “Report, Master Robin. Are you injured as well?”

Jason drew a few shaky breaths. Get your head back in the game. Focus. You’re Robin. He lectured himself. “No, I’m not injured. But there’s so much blood.”

“Remember the ABCs.”

This immediately summoned at least a portion of Jason’s training, as he checked Dick’s airway and pulse. “He’s breathing. Pulse is fast but strong.”

 

“Watch out for signs of shock. Is he alert?”

 

“Nightwing, can you respond?” Jason demanded.

 

It took a few seconds, but Nightwing managed a gasping, “never better, Agent A.” He tried to grin at Jason, but with his face much paler than normal and the blood down his lips and chin, the effect was more ghoulish and less reassuring than Jason thought the other man intended.  

 

“Put several large gauze pieces on each wound, then see if you can wrap a long bandage around. Then get in the car. I’ll take control of the Batmobile. See if you can continue to apply pressure from the driver’s seat.”

It took some awkward maneuvering, but Jason managed to follow Alfred’s instructions.    
“A, he’s starting to look a bit clammy,” Jason said.

“Who are you calling shell-fish?” Nightwing slurred.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jason retorted.

“There’s a thermal blanket in the first aid kit. Are you inside the vehicle?”

“Yes,” Jason responded, kneeling on the driver’s seat, wedged between the steering wheel and seat back. 

“Very well, Master Robin. Returning the car to the cave now.” 

The engine thrummed to life, and Jason spent the next fifteen minutes hunched over his predecessor, trying to keep him covered with the stupid slithery blanket (and who the hell decided to make them so slippery), trying to keep pressure on this wounds, trying to keep him awake.

  
“Okay, Wingnut. Almost there. Keep talking to me.”

“What did you just call me?” Dick’s voice was soft and slow, but more or less coherent. Bad puns aside.  

“Wingnut. Gotta problem with that? Cuz I might want to remind you that I’m currently keeping your guts inside your body.”

“No, just my blood. Guts didn’t get cut. Promise.”

“There is no way you could possibly know that.”

“Can. They’re slippery. Just like me. All twisty.” 

“Whatever.”

“Guts and glory . . . . or is that no guts . . . ” Jason heard how difficult each gasping breath is for Dick. Dick’s pulse seemed to be weaker each time Jason checked it, and the bleeding might have slowed but definitely hadn’t stopped. 

“Yeah, still not making a lot of sense. Now pretend to be normal, I can see the cave.”

 

Jason had never been so relieved to see Alfred, ready with a gurney. Jason moved before the vehicle comes to a complete stop, vaulting over the hood to help Alfred help get Dick out. For the first time, Jason saw Dick in full light. The gauze pads are soaked through, his skin is gray, beads of sweat on his brow. “You look like shit, Mr. Guts and Glory,” Jason taunted to cover his fear.

 

“Language, Master Robin,” Alfred scolded as they pushed the gurney towards the cave’s medical area.

 

“Sorry, Alf. But this isn’t good, is it?” Jason almost whispered.

 

“Dr. Thompkins is on her way, and I am more than capable of stabilizing him until she arrives. Do you remember how to prep an IV? I have already hung a bag in preparation.”

 

Jason nodded, and followed Alfred’s quiet instructions. They removed the top half of Nightwing’s suit, two IV lines in for saline and blood, placed an oxygen mask and just finished connecting him to an EKG when Leslie arrived. 

 

“Thank you very much for your assistance, but now that Dr. Thompkins is here I believe we will be quite all right, Master Jason. Please go shower and change, and wait for Master Bruce.”

 

Jason planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I want to stay.”

 

“Your offer is appreciated, but I must insist now. Dr. Thompkins and I have worked together many times before and you would only get in the way.” Alfred sounded a bit stressed, and Jason thought how rarely he ever heard the butler sound even a bit frazzled. Maybe he’s sending Jason away because Dick is going to die, and it’s all Jason’s fault.

 

Jason looked down. He was covered in Dick’s blood, missing his cape, and Dick hasn’t said a word since they got him out of the car. Jason stomped off towards the showers, kicking a cabinet as he passes. Leslie and Alfred conferred, and the last thing Jason heard is the doctor say “I’m concerned about a potential pleural effusion.”

 

Jason turned the water heat up as high as he can stand and leant into the spray. Goddamn, that water pressure felt good, and Jason tried not to think about anything but enjoying the shower. He reflected that one of the very best things about Wayne Manor and the Batcave had to be great water pressure and a seemingly unlimited supply of hot water. Rich people plumbing. Jason squirted some shampoo and body wash into his hand without opening his eyes, deliberately thinking only about getting clean. It worked beautifully for a few minutes, until he made the mistake of opening his eyes to see the water stained red as it goes down the drain. The thought that it’s Dick’s blood intruded on the fragile peace. 

 

Stupid acrobat, getting himself hurt, Jason thought, leaving himself open with those flashy moves. Jason ignored the whisper of doubt that Nightwing saved Robin twice, that Jason fell, that Jason was the one who was supposed to know if there had been anyone in the warehouse.  

 

Jason slammed the water off with what Alfred would certainly deem unnecessary force, reminding himself that they - that HE - had rescued two girls from what was almost certainly sex slavery. He remembered their tremulous smiles, the faint hope in their eyes when they recognized Robin, and that gets him through drying off and pulling on some sweats and a tee. He zipped on a thick hoody against the winter chill of the cave and padded out to the computer. Leslie and Alfred were still in the med bay, so Jason curled up on the chair in front of the main screen. Batman required Jason to fill out a report after every patrol, so Jason started to type one up. His dry recounting of facts, written in as passive of voice as possible, didn’t do much to distract him from the fact that whatever the doctor and the field medic were doing to Dick, it seemed to be taking a very long time. But writing the report was the only thing Jason can think to do, so he did it. 

 

Jason ran spell check a final time - Bruce very much noticed typos and other mistakes - and saved the document. He decided to just lie his head on his arms for a minute or two, and then check on Dick. Maybe Alfred and Leslie could use his help after all. But Jason has been up nearly twentyfour hours, he’s fifteen, and before he can force himself to stand up, he fell asleep.

 

The sound of Batman saying his name jerked Jason into a sitting position, heart thudding in his chest. He blinked away disorientation and rubbed heavy eyelids, startling at the sight of Batman with his cowl still covering head and face.

 

“Jason, report,” Batman growled, but for a second Jason couldn’t remember why he fell asleep in front of the computer and why Batman seemed even grouchier than normal. Then everything rushed back and he blanched.

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Jason. I told you two not to engage. Recon only.”

 

As always, Jason’s anger rose to meet Bruce’s perceived criticism. “Did you actually expect us to leave the hostages? Let those two girls get sold?”

 

“I expected to return to two healthy partners.” Batman’s deep rasp was implacable, and Jason flinched. 

 

“You gonna to fire me now? I maybe screw up one time - and I’m not saying I DID screw up - and I’m not your partner any more?”

 

Batman responded with a flat, “I did not say that you are no longer my partner.” 

 

“Nightwing gets his clumsy ass hurt, you decide it’s my fault, and you fire me just like you fired him?” Jason attacked to hide his own fear and anger.

 

“Was it your fault?” 

 

Jason clenched his fists and didn’t respond.

 

“Answer me, Robin. I wasn’t there. I haven’t read your report. Was it your fault?”

 

Jason studied Batman as he tried to think what to say. Batman didn’t look any more pissed off than he usually did. His tone was gravel and steel, but he didn’t sound any more angry than he usual. Jason realized that Batman was just asking, and that thought dropped like ice into his stomach. Unable to keep on meeting Batman’s whited-out eyes, Jason lowered his gaze to the floor and mumbled, “I don’t regret stopping them from shipping out those girls.”

 

Batman pulled the cowl off, and used a finger to force Jason’s chin back up. “Robin.”

 

Jason told him everything. Realizing the drug dealers were expanding into human trafficking. Taking out the thugs on the boats. Saving the hostages. Being blindsided by the additional thugs inside the warehouse. Dick saving him not once but twice. Tripping on his own feet and nearly getting knifed, acknowledging that one of Dick’s knife wounds probably came in that instant.

 

When he finished, Jason forced himself to meet Bruce’s eyes. Bruce looked tired, and maybe sad, but not angry.

 

“You did screw up, Jason. Everyone does in this business, and we train hard to minimize it. But your mistakes were within my expectations given your level of experience and the situation. I expect you to add an addendum to your report delineating your mistakes and what actions you would and would not repeat.”

 

For a minute Jason couldn’t talk, couldn’t even breathe. Finally he stuttered, “Th-that’s it?”

 

“No patrol until I can review the report, and I may need to modify your training schedule.”

 

“I’m not fired?”

 

“No. You are not fired. Did I not make myself clear?” Now Jason heard some anger back in the voice, but he couldn’t stop himself from pushing a bit more.

 

“I nearly got Nightwing killed. You fired him before, when he got shot by the Joker, so why not me now? I screwed up just as bad. I think he’s probably even hurt worse this time.”

 

“The question isn’t how serious the injury is, but the circumstances around the injury. Last time, there were many factors at play, not just Joker getting in a lucky shot. This time, Nightwing sustained two severe stab wounds, and lost a lot of blood, but he will make a complete recovery. Your actions and your rationale behind them are relevant in my decision.”

 

Jason huffed out a sigh of relief, a knot of tension he hadn’t even acknowledged loosening in his chest.

 

“So you are giving me another chance? Though you didn’t give him one before?”

 

Bruce merely looked at Jason for several long moments, then Jason saw a hint of softening around his eyes. “I said that everyone makes mistakes.”

 

“What? Oh. Oh!” Did Batman just admit that firing Nightwing was a mistake? But if it was, then that must mean . . . . “You want Dick back as Robin.”

 

Bruce shook his head, and briefly gripped Jason’s shoulder. “No, Jason. You are my Robin. I would like to start working with Dick more regularly again, but he is Nightwing now.”

 

Jason bit his lip to stop his heart jumping out of his mouth with glee at hearing Bruce call him  _ his _ Robin, and he finally relaxed his hands, still curled into tight fists. “So Dick really is going to be okay?”

 

“Yes, he is. I just spoke with him briefly.” Bruce’s lip twitched into what some people might think was a grimace but Jason knew it was a small but genuine smile. “He said he enjoyed working with you.” 

 

“It wasn’t totally bad, working with him tonight. He wasn’t a complete loser. I could maybe stand to see him around the cave a bit more, as long as he doesn’t want the costume back.” 

 

Bruce raised one eyebrow. “That non-complete loser saved your life tonight.” 

 

Though Bruce’s tone remained even, Jason blushed and ducked his head. “He did move really fast. Fastest non-meta I’ve ever seen.” Maybe there is a hint of jealousy in that admission.

 

“Yes, Dick makes up for size and strength with speed and agility. You will find your own path. I’m sure you’ll end up taller, and you can take a punch.”

 

Jason relaxed even further at the rare praise from Batman. “He was well enough to talk to you?”

 

“For a few minutes, yes, but then Alfred gave him something to help him sleep. We moved him upstairs. You can see him when you both wake up. Now, bed for you as well.”

 

Much later that same day, Jason knocked tentatively at Dick’s door, pushing it open when he heard a quiet “come in.”

He wanted to see Dick, to reassure himself that the other teen was going to be okay, but he felt awkward. What do you say to someone who saved your life, and got himself messed up in the process? Jason entered to see Dick reclined against several pillows, with sallow skin and bags under his eyes. He smiled up at Jason though like he was genuinely happy to see him. 

“Hey,” Jason muttered. “Alfred asked me to give you this and said that I can’t leave until you drink it all.” He handed Dick the bright green smoothie.

Dick grimaced at the lurid color. “Does this have spinach in it?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Yeah. Something about iron. I know it looks weird but if Al made it, I’m sure it’s good.”

Dick gave the drink a cautious sniff. “Smells fine. I know Alfred knows what he’s doing. Help me sit up more.” Dick handed back the drink and Jason kicked himself for trying to give it to someone still lying down. Dick pushed himself up to to more of a sitting position with both arms, hiding a grimace. Jason grabbed a couple more pillows and stuffed them behind Dick, only handing back the smoothie once he was sure Dick was settled and as comfortable as possible. He felt terrified that he would screw up and hurt him with poor pillow placement, and wasn’t sure if he should physically help Dick move. Dick, however, didn’t seem to feel awkward at all, sinking back into the rearranged pillows without any self-consciousness, and gesturing for the smoothie back.

“It’s not my favorite part, but you’ll learn to deal with it,” Dick said.

“What?”

“Injuries.” Dick gestured at himself, where Jason could see the outline of bandages beneath his tee-shirt. “This isn’t your fault.”

 

“I didn’t see the men in the warehouse. I almost got taken down twice. I tripped on a stupid pot hole and nearly ended up on my ass.” 

 

“Yeah, and I bet you already figured out how you missed the goons inside, and won’t do that again.”

 

Jason shrugged, not denying it.

 

“Seriously, don’t beat yourself up about this. Use it to get better.”

 

“Bruce said kinda the same thing.”

 

“B is almost always right. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“He said he hopes we can work together more.”

 

Dick grinned, and Jason thought he was in a toothpaste commercial. “I’d like that.”

 

Jason smiled back, thinking that toothpaste commercials weren’t so bad. “I’d like that too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit welcome! I enjoyed writing this and hope you enjoyed it.


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